


Big Teeth Small Kiss

by resolutioninclockwork



Series: The Playlist [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Companionable Snark, Fluff and Smut, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I've lost control of these two, It just keeps going, M/M, Oral Sex, Tickling, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-23 21:51:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12517356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resolutioninclockwork/pseuds/resolutioninclockwork
Summary: Caress my knees with your tongueTeeth on my waist I come undoneIt's those hours in the night just before a lightRun your hand down my spineWe kiss the dusk goodnightGoodnight





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posting without editing, so please let me know if there are typos.
> 
> I needed this so badly, you don't even know. And they're not done - I just needed sleep.
> 
> Fic based on the song BTSK by MS MR.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who encouraged and advised on this one - I adore you all! :)

He’d been king for more than a decade, but he’d never entirely gotten the hang of diplomatic visits. He always felt like he was forgetting something important, or that his face had gotten away from him and was doing something absurd without his knowledge. That had happened a few times, and had instilled a mild yet deeply rooted paranoia.

 

At least he knew that Leliana would be there. Ahem, _whoops_ – Divine Victoria. Yet another thing he hadn’t quite gotten the hang of yet, despite the big hat. She still slipped him those silly smirks when no one was looking, so he figured he could forgive himself for a little while longer. Her Holiness still had a mischievous streak that put Lake Calenhad to shame.

 

Too bad she’d decided to turn it on him, this time.

 

***

“Your Majesty! It is a pleasure to see you again.” Dorian watched from his spot on the wall of the Great Hall, smirking a bit at how both the new Divine and the King of Ferelden lit up when they finally made their way towards each other. They’d been trying to have a word all evening, but the large crowd of nobles had caught one or the other of them at every turn thus far.

 

Dorian wondered if the two had ever been anything more than friends, what with the way they tilted towards each other and smirked. The story went that Leliana had been the Hero of Ferelden’s lover during the Blight, but Dorian had never heard confirmation one way or the other. No one dared to ask Leliana directly – or if they did, they never spoke of it in public.

 

He took a moment to scan the room while he mulled that over, sipping at the goblet of mediocre wine in his hand. It couldn’t have taken him more than a handful of breaths, but when his eyes found the pair again they were… not quite having an argument, but _something_ had happened. He watched carefully, trying to suss it out, and then Leliana – _Divine Victoria_ – looked straight. At. Him. And she was grinning.

 

She waved him over with the barest wiggle of a finger, and he gulped nervously. Talking to the Inquisition’s former spymistress had always been a fraught proposition, and now he had to do it in front of the King of Ferelden? _Kaffas_. He couldn’t see a way out of it, though, so he navigated his way towards them.

 

“Your Holiness, your Majesty. How may I be of assistance?” Pulling out a practiced bow, he plastered his best Game face in place and braced himself.

 

“Dorian! Your Majesty, may I present Altus Dorian Pavus. He was instrumental in the defeat of Corypheus, and I belive he may have some unique insight into your most recent difficulties.” She beamed brightly, eyes glittering – and the King _choked_.

 

“Ah, what? Um, oh yes…the, uh… Maker’s breath.” Alistair shuffled his feet, his cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink that Dorian found utterly charming. “Right! That. We were pondering an arcane advisor, and Lel- ah, Divine Victoria, thought that you might have some suggestions. Ah, for criteria, if not for a specific candidate.” It was an absolute joy to watch the king attempt to school his expression, and Dorian took a moment to appreciate the situation.

 

“Of course, your Majesty. I would be happy to assist in any way you like.” There was maybe a little more heat to the offer than he’d intended, but the look on Alistair’s face told him that he’d hit home. The king flushed to the tips of his ears, but seemed to settle at the same time. “Then again, I’m sure that Madame de Fer may have more applicable insight from her time in Val Royeaux.”

 

“Of course! You should consult with her as well, Your Majesty, but I believe that a unique perspective may be useful.” The new Divine’s face was very nearly a mask of general amiability, but Dorian could see the flicker of amusement in her eyes. The crack was exceedingly rare for her, and have had to wonder if it was intentional… and if so, what was her particular interest here?

 

“Perfect. We could meet tomorrow, perhaps?” Alistair’s eyes danced across Dorian’s face, and he felt a mirroring flush creep its way up his neck. This apparently didn’t go unnoticed, because as soon as he felt it he could see the king’s eyebrow tick.

 

“Of course, Your Majesty. I am at your service.” _Kaffas!_ That one hadn’t been intentional. He saw the flash of heat in Alistair’s gaze, though, and _well isn’t that interesting._

 

Divine Victoria, for her part, just smiled wickedly and turned to the next in an endless procession of nobles wishing for her attention. He knew this was a setup, but he just couldn’t find it in himself to be terribly put out by it yet.

 

***

_It doesn't make us strong_

_It doesn't make us weak_

_Tongue tied disservice_

_Like shy pre-teens_

_I could only breathe_

_Live to believe_

_I'm alone_

 

Alistair found himself wandering in one of the side hallways, having gotten himself turned around a bit on his way to the kitchens. He hadn’t had much time to investigate the bounty of food laid out for the event earlier, and his stomach was voicing its protest. He put a hand over it in a futile attempt to hide the rather impressive growl, grumbling his confusion.

 

“May I assist, Your Majesty?” He nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice, ducking his head sheepishly as he turned around. Dorian was leaning in a doorway just steps away, a teasing smirk dancing just at the corner of his mouth. He found himself watching that mouth just a breath too long, and the mage arched a brow at him.

 

“Ah, yes. Sorry! I was looking for the kitchens. I find myself a bit peckish. And please, call me Alistair.” He smiled a bit, his head still tilted down a bit in an attempt to hide the blush that – _Maker’s balls_ – he just couldn’t seem to fight off when the mage looked at him. There’s something a bit dangerous lurking behind those perfectly lined eyes, and his body had a tendency to react before his mind could catch up. _Some things never change, do they?_

 

“Well then! You’re in luck, because I know the way! Cook will be to her bed by now, so there should be no spoons to endanger the royal knuckles for digging into her stores.” Dorian sauntered – _sauntered!_ – towards him, and Alistair could feel his stomach flip. _Well, it’s better than growling?_ The mage looked downright predatory in the flickering light of the torches, and he realized he was in trouble when he couldn’t quite decide if that’s actually bad.

 

“Good! Ah, lead the way?”

 

***

 

 

_I found you in pieces you'd been torn apart_

_A million one reasons to end before you start_

_But deep down I knew_

_No matter what in the end, it'd be me and you_

 

 

They ate and drank their way through the kitchens and ended up in the cellars at some point, digging into the Inquisitor’s stash of pilfered booze and not being entirely quiet about it. Through the haze of alcohol, Dorian found himself utterly delighted by the uninhibited man struggling with the cork on a blue-green bottle. He wasn’t at all what Dorian expected: sweet and just this side of bumbling, but also big and sure of himself when he finds something familiar. There was plenty of evidence of the warrior Alistair once was, from the bulk of muscle that _oh sweet Maker_ he must work hard to maintain to the deft twirl of the dagger he was using to dig at the crumbling cork.

 

The wine they’d imbibed was definitely making things more challenging, and Alistair was…. sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he finally got the cork clear. He obviously hadn’t even realized he’d done it, and Dorian felt stuck to the spot at the sight of it.

 

Alistair took a swig and grimaced, coughing hard and then grinning as he turned back to face Dorian. “Maker, that’s awful. It’s open now, though, and the cork has gone to the Maker’s bosom.” He took a step closer, and Dorian could feel the heat radiating from Alistair’s body. “I think that means we’re supposed to drink it all. What do you think?” He held out the bottle, not quite half full.

 

“I must agree! Let it be a royal decree.” Dorian took the proffered bottle, his slender fingers brushing ever so slightly against the back of Alistair’s hand as he moved to grip the neck. _Maker, I couldn’t make that more blatant if I tried._

 

Apparently, the king was not of an entirely different mind. The heated gaze that Dorian had glimpsed earlier in the day was back, and suddenly Alistair didn’t look so sweet and bumbling anymore. He looked _hungry_ , and Dorian’s stomach did another flip. He brought the bottle to his lips, hoping the sip would give him a moment to collect his thoughts.

 

Many things happened at nearly the same time, and Dorian was still trying to parse them when he realized exactly where he was. The booze was, indeed, quite terrible – and at this point completely unidentifiable as anything but alcoholic. He swallowed and wheezed a bit, and Alistair moved to pound him on the back. Dorian turned at just the wrong moment, catching the edge of Alistair’s sleeve on one of his many buckles and tipping the larger man off balance. He stumbled forward a bit, bumping into Dorian and knocking him back against the wall. Alistair’s reflexes were still sharp enough that he put his other hand up to catch himself on the wall, but Dorian found himself essentially pinned against the stone by the king’s bulk. There was a gentle palm against his back – apparently, he’d caught the assisting limb under his arm when he turned. And there was a rather delectable mouth mere inches from his, as Alistair looked down at him.

 

Even intoxicated, the king was careful. He moved in slowly, giving Dorian plenty of time to turn his head or say something. When Dorian tilted his head upwards in invitation, Alistair accepted. It was just the barest brush of lips, a hesitant exploration that set Dorian’s blood aflame. He let Alistair set the pace, yielding at his touch without pushing for the deeper contact he suddenly craved just so he could breathe again.

 

Another gentle brush, soft and questioning, and then Alistair flicked his tongue out to caress Dorian’s lower lip. There was absolutely nothing he could do to stifle the near whimper that bubbled out of Dorian’s throat in response, and Alistair chuckled softly.

 

“Maybe we don’t need the drink after all.” Dorian could almost taste the words, because Alistair hadn’t backed away before speaking. He hummed a quiet acknowledgment, leaning up to nip at Alistair’s lower lip in return.

 

“Perks of being royalty, I imagine. You can change your mind as you like.” He could feel the shiver that danced down Alistair’s spine, and he moved his hand to rest at the curve of the king’s neck. “When you find a more interesting way to spend your time, for example.”

 

Alistair groaned deeply, crowding Dorian even more against the wall. “You are definitely that.” Dorian’s fingers stroked upwards to dance at the base of Alistair’s skull, and the gentle attention seemed to flip a switch in the king’s mind. “I would like to be more, ah, clear headed. For this. Is, ah, is that okay?”

 

Dorian melted just a little, the hint of unease in the other man’s voice tugging at him in a way he didn’t expect. “Your wish is my command, Your Majesty.” He dipped under the larger man’s arm, letting his hand drag across the king’s chest as he slipped away. “Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?”

 

“Alistair, please. Where?” The raw, bright gleam of hope on Alistair’s face tugged at him again, and Dorian wondered just how lonely the man really was.

 

“We could go to the tavern. Or, if you prefer something quieter, you could request the meal in your rooms…” Back on familiar territory, Dorian knew just how much inflection to put into the suggestion to make Alistair’s cheeks flush. He turned away just as the color appeared, moving to put the open bottle behind a crate along the far wall.

 

“Ah, yes. That would be, ah, I think that would be good.” He straightened, automatically moving to smooth his clothing despite the hour and the low likelihood that anyone would see him. Dorian watched the king put himself together, arching an eyebrow as the royal mask fell into place and schooled Alistair’s expression. “I have a meeting with Ambassador Montilyet just before that. It shouldn’t run too late, but.. “

 

“Perhaps we should make it a slightly later dinner. I will come see you just after sunset, and you will let our dear Ambassador know that you will take your meal in your rooms after such a _tiring_ day.” Dorian’s smirk was practiced and easy, and he leaned in just a smidge.

 

Alistair tilted his head at Dorian, smirking a bit at the instruction. “I believe that can be arranged, Altus Pavus.” The king took a last appreciative look at Dorian, then turned and slipped out of the room.

 

***

 

“A gift for His Majesty from the Inquisition. Would you mind if I delivered it?” Dorian’s voice filtered through the door, and Alistair diverted from the rut he’d been pacing into the rug to greet him. He could hear the guards murmuring quietly in response, and opened the door before they could turn his guest away.

 

“Yes! Ah, thank you very much, Ser Pavus. You can, uh, bring it in here?” He hadn’t intended for that to be a question, but he found he wasn’t entirely in control of his voice. _Maker, get a grip._ He pulled the door wide and swept an arm in invitation, struggling to hide the nervous stutter to his movements.

 

“As you wish.” The mage glided past him, carrying a small gilded box. Alistair caught a whiff of intoxicating citrus and spice trailing behind him, and he bit the inside of his cheek to school his expression as he closed the door.

 

“Is that a real gift, or did you just magic that up as an excuse?” He _hated_ the nervous tremor in his voice, but Dorian either ignored it or didn’t notice.

 

“Why not both?” He moved all the way across the room to place the box on the far table, and Alistair wondered if he was back to putting on the seduction. _Not that I mind…_

 

“Right! Ah, yes. Right. Would you like some dinner?”

 

***

_Caress my knees with your tongue_

_Teeth on my waist I come undone_

_It's those hours in the night just before a light_

_Run your hand down my spine_

_We kiss the dusk goodnight_

_Goodnight_

 

Dorian couldn’t say exactly when things had shifted.

 

They were eating, laughing, getting comfortable with each other, and then suddenly they were playing a game. A game that Dorian was finding himself surprisingly amenable to losing.

 

Banter shifted to exploration – testing boundaries, investigating interests. He thought he knew the landscape when he waded in, but Alistair was surprisingly challenging to pin down. One moment he seemed entirely amenable to letting Dorian lead, and then suddenly he’d flip and seem almost predatory.

 

Eventually he couldn’t bear the suspense any longer, and he got up to move towards the box he’d brought. Alistair watched him go, leaning back in his chair and sipping at a bottle of cider. Dorian had watched him eschew the wine in favor of the lighter beverage, apparently serious about being sober. Those clear eyes watched as Dorian moved, and he could feel the weight of that gaze following him across the room.

 

“You brought me a gift, then?” Alistair’s voice was quiet, but Dorian had absolutely no trouble hearing him.

 

“Of course! It would be horribly rude not to. Diplomatic relations and all, you know.” He looked down at the box, toying at the clasp.

 

“I wonder what it could be? A gift for little old me?” _Kaffas!_ He hadn’t made a sound when he got out of the chair, and suddenly the voice was significantly closer. Dorian turned, box in hand, and put on his best smirk.

 

“Why don’t you open it up and see, Your Majesty?” He offered the box as soon as Alistair was within reach, but the king kept moving closer. Dorian shifted, holding the box closer and in both hands, and that’s when Alistair reached out to open it.

 

“A vial of oil, is it? The _Inquisition_ is in the habit of presenting its royal visitors with oils?” He reached in and removed the glass bottle, eyeing it carefully. Dorian wondered if he’d perhaps misstepped.

 

“I wouldn’t call it a habit. Perhaps it was a poor choice-“

 

The soft pop of the cork being removed stopped him instantly.

 

“I think it’s a fine choice.” The heat in Alistair’s voice was contagious, and Dorian felt the flush of arousal hit him fully for the first time that evening. He watched in silence as the king tipped a few small drops onto his fingers, rubbing them together slowly and bringing them to his nose. “The _Inquisition_ doesn’t skimp, either.”

 

“Right. Ah, about that.” Dorian found himself stammering – _stammering_ , like a Maker-forsaken virgin – and cleared his throat. Before he could speak again, though, Alistair had grabbed the box with his oiled hand and tugged it out of Dorian’s grip to toss it carelessly aside.

 

“Dorian.”

 

“Venhedis, Alistair. What?” The larger man was slowly moving closer, and Dorian could feel his body heat adding to the fiery tingle spreading across his skin.

 

“You are a very naughty man.” The smirk that followed was powerful, and Dorian only had an instant to register it before Alistair’s mouth was on his. Those large, oil-slicked fingers delved into his hair and pulled him close, and if Dorian were any less turned on he would have protested on several levels.

 

He heard the vial gently hit the table, safely out of spilling danger, and he took that as his cue to step into the kiss. He skimmed his hands around Alistair’s torso, letting his fingertips explore the hard muscle under that expensive linen shirt. Alistair’s other hand curled around Dorian’s waist, pulling their hips together.

 

At that proximity, there was no way that Alistair hadn’t felt that shudder of delight, and he definitely couldn’t miss the bulge pressing into his thigh. The height difference wasn’t huge, but Dorian could feel every inch of it as Alistair overwhelmed him with his presence and his body.

 

He didn’t even register that the moan had come from his own throat until Alistair chuckled into his mouth and gently pulled him towards the bedroom. Moving backwards, Alistair didn’t see the frame of the door before he bumped into it. Dorian half expected a break and a shy chuckle, but Alistair ignored it completely and just changed course, pulling them into the room and promptly pinning Dorian against the bare wall just inside.

 

Dorian couldn’t remember the last time he’d been kissed so hungrily, though he was admittedly not inclined to ponder it too thoroughly at the moment. Alistair’s tongue teased his mercilessly, drawing out a mirroring eagerness that he’d not let himself show, and he idly marveled at the king’s ability to throw him so thoroughly off center.

 

The hand in Dorian’s hair slipped away to rest against the wall, and Alistair’s lips slowly made their way down his jaw on the opposite side. The hand at his hip held him tightly against the stone, but Alistair was slowly separating their bodies. The lack of contact left him suddenly cold and desperate for an instant, and he squirmed in frustration.

 

Alistair didn’t seem terribly put out by Dorian’s movements, though, and he groaned softly when Dorian tried and failed to pull him closer. The denial made Dorian buck his hips ineffectively against the hand pressing him down, refusing even the barest of satisfying touches.

 

“Maker, you’re stubborn.” Alistair laughed fully at that, nuzzling the sensitive spot just behind Dorian’s ear. When his tongue flicked out to tease at the delicate skin, Dorian tilted his head and gasped softly.

 

“I know. Do you want me to stop?” Sharp teeth grazed ever so gently down the tendon of his neck, and Dorian arched sharply as shocks of pleasure shot straight to his cock.

 

“Don’t you dare.”

 

“As you wish, Altus Pavus.” He could hear the smirk in the king’s voice, and it only made him ache more. Soft, teasing lips wrapped around the lobe of his ear for just an instant, suckling and teasing it with the tip of a deft tongue, and then Alistair was _moving_.

 

He had both of Dorian’s wrists in his hands in a blink, and yet again he was floored by how quickly Alistair could move. The thrill of it made him buck again – which was apparently exactly what Alistair wanted. In one deft move he’d slipped both arms into the space behind Dorian’s lower back, wrapping his wrists in one large hand. Dorian tugged a bit and the fingers loosened ever so slightly – he could easily pull free if he really wanted to, but he had no doubt that Alistair could keep his eager squirming in check a bit more easily now.

 

With his arms out of commission and his hips thrust slightly forward, Dorian felt lewd and on display. The bulge of his cock jutted visibly from the front of his trousers, pushed into empty air. The king dropped open-mouthed kisses and bites down Dorian’s neck and torso, using his free hand to tug at the mage’s shirt to get it out of the way. When the collar of the shirt no longer stretched, he shucked the fabric upwards and tugged it behind Dorian’s head, leaving it on his arms but keeping it neatly out of the way.

 

“Maker, Dorian. You’re stunning.” His words were muffled as he kissed and nipped his winding way down Dorian’s stomach. It was all he could do to look down, locking his brown eyes with Alistair’s lighter whiskey-colored gaze and absorbing just how flushed the king really was. His cheeks were bright pink, lips swollen, and his eyes glistened with something that tugged at Dorian’s hips.

 

When Dorian rocked forward involuntarily, Alistair did something entirely unexpected: he met the thrust with his lips, pressing his mouth against the clothed bulge in Dorian’s trousers. He didn’t blink, didn’t hesitate, didn’t break their locked gaze – just started working his lips and tongue against Dorian’s aching shaft. He couldn’t possibly be expected to handle that stoically, so he only felt a slight twinge of embarrassment at the guttural, needy whimper that bubbled up from his throat. Alistair hummed happily, his lips curled in a satisfied smile as he ran his tongue from the base of Dorian’s cock all the way to the still-trapped tip.

 

“Vishante Kaffas, Alistair. _Please_. You are a cruel man.” Alistair laughed and nodded slowly, sliding his hand down to tug slowly at Dorian’s trouser laces.

 

“People keep telling me that. I think that I’m perfectly nice, but I think we define things differently.” His gaze dropped to focus on the ties, and after a moment he grabbed one of the laces in his teeth and tugged. “I try to be generous and helpful, but sometimes people are just so ungrateful.”

 

Dorian gawped at him. There was nothing else for it – he’d been stunned into wordless staring as the King of Ferelden untied his trousers with his teeth and cracked jokes. Alistair looked back up at him and gave a sunny grin, then wrapped his hand around Dorian’s trousers and his smalls and pulled downwards.

 

His cock was angry and throbbing, already leaking precum and suddenly free to bob lewdly in the air. Dorian tugged weakly at his wrists and thrust his hips forward, but Alistair just shook his head and moved his hand back up to hold Dorian’s hips still. The grip on Dorian’s wrists was firm but not painful, and he realized it was actually quite comfortable once he got past the shock of it.

 

“See? I try to say thank you for my gift, and you go all squirmy. Ungrateful, I say.” Alistair settled his knees on the plush rug under them and leaned forward, repeating the lick from earlier on Dorian’s now bare cock. It jumped at the contact, bouncing lightly on Alistair’s flattened tongue, and Dorian could have sworn he’d accidentally set himself on fire with the heat rolling between them.

 

He realized that teasing time was over when Alistair swirled his tongue around the head of his cock, savoring it for a beat before sliding the shaft past his lips and into his mouth. The hand at his hip kept him from thrusting down Alistair’s throat, and he was distantly grateful for it because he realized his control was fraying quickly. Of course Alistair noticed, because he smirked – _smirked!_ – around Dorian’s cock and started bobbing in earnest, cheeks hollowing each time he pulled back. He matched his strokes to the rock of Dorian’s hips under his hand, following the rhythm while not allowing Dorian to actually control the situation.

 

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum_ , Alistair.” His voice cracked as his head fell back, utterly helpless to hold back the bubbling pressure at the base of his spine. He leaned heavily on the wall, pressing his crossed hands to the stone to help support the tremble in his legs. Alistair pulled his hand away from Dorian’s wrists, but he didn’t move them. Those thick, deft fingers cradled Dorian’s balls, cupping them tenderly and rolling them around while one digit stroked firmly at the sensitive skin just behind his sac.

 

It was too much. His control shattered, and he came hard into Alistair’s mouth before he could give a warning, gasping desperately for air as he shot pulse after pulse of his release into the king’s throat.

 

 _Vishante kaffas_. He scrambled to pull together his shattered thoughts, but it was exceedingly difficult when all of his extremities were tingling with the force of his climax. As he struggled, Alistair pushed himself to his feet and gently rested his hands at Dorian’s hips, an extremely satisfied smirk dancing across his face.

 

Dorian sagged slightly against those strong arms, his forehead dropping to rest on Alistair’s still clothed shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was shaky with fatigue and amusement. “You’re welcome?”


	2. Chapter 2

_Big teeth small kiss_   
_I turn to wax and melt like this_   
_Melt like this_   
_Lavender Haze_   
_Djarum vanilla_   
_Turkish jade_   
_You and me_   
_We have it made_   
_We have it made_

They shifted to the bed at some point, though Alistair couldn’t quite remember who had moved that direction first. He snagged the vial from the table in the outer room on the way, though. Better to be prepared, right?

Of all things, they actually took their time getting each other fully naked, one at a time. He reveled in every inch of Dorian’s skin as he tugged the fabrics away, kissing and nipping at him playfully. His reaction to Alistair’s attention had been incredible, and he wanted desperately to find more ways to pull delicious noises out of him.

A tongue at the back of Dorian’s knee elicited precisely the desired response – a full body jerk and a smothered laugh. Alistair grinned at him and took the opportunity, tilting Dorian’s leg just so and giving that spot another long, feather-light lick.

This was an error in judgment. Dorian slipped free of Alistair’s grasp and wrapped both legs around his torso, flipping them over in one quick movement. He’d been too cocky, and suddenly he had a naked mage essentially sitting on his chest.

“You like to tickle, Alistair? How cruel and utterly undignified.” Dorian slowly slid down his body, heating Alistair’s skin with his own just to move it along an instant later and leave him cooling. He finally stopped as he straddled Alistair’s thighs, and he couldn’t suppress the shiver of delight at being laid out beneath the smaller man.

Of course, Dorian noticed just how delighted Alistair was with the situation, and the wicked smirk on his face made Alistair’s skin prickle with anticipation. The mage apparently had other plans in store, though, because he promptly ignored the swelling length and skimmed his hands up Alistair’s torso and arms, twining their fingers together to lightly pin his hands above his head. The position left him vulnerable and on display, and he rolled his hips as much as the weight above him would allow.

“Are you ticklish, Your Majesty?” That wicked grin again, and then there were sparks. Literal sparks, dancing gently across the surface of Alistair’s skin. He arched hard, eyes wide as he pulled in a deep breath. He trembled a bit, holding that breath in, and Dorian arched a brow at him.

“I think you are.” More sparks, and Alistair dissolved into giggles. “Terribly undignified, Alistair. I cannot _fathom_ what could drive a king to such flailing.” And flail he did, bucking and wriggling under the onslaught. Not once did he use his full strength, letting Dorian’s weight keep him contained for several minutes.

One hand released his, and suddenly he felt deft fingers sliding against his length. The laughter morphed into a light moan, and his eyes rolled back a little.

“ _Maker_ that’s good.”

“Not Maker. Dorian.” He stroked again, and Alistair couldn’t hold back the delighted groan. Those fingers were magical all on their own, skimming and stroking in just the right places. One digit slipped around to press at the spot just behind his sac and Alistair shuddered hard, reaching up to slide his free hand into Dorian’s hair and bring him in for a kiss.

He wasn’t entirely sure whether the spark he felt was magical, or maybe something else, but he couldn’t gather his thoughts enough to think about it too hard.

When he felt Dorian release his other hand and reach for the bottle, he let the scent of the expensive oil and Dorian envelop him entirely. He gave himself up to the skilled attentions of the mage, and floated away as the waves of arousal pulled at him.

***

  
_It didn't come easy I'm glad it was hard_   
_Worth the wait to give you my heart_

They spent every night of Alistair’s visit together, lounging and joking and touching and moaning well into the early hours. They were both unforgivably exhausted each day, and while Dorian would normally be horrified by the dark circles of fatigue under his eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to hate them this time. The two of them just… fit. They’d both been surprised at how easy it had been to fall into whatever this was.

That final morning left them both speckled with bite marks and overeager scratches, and Dorian didn’t envy the king his impending carriage ride with those sore muscles.

Alistair had breathlessly offered Dorian the Arcane Advisor position in Denerim in their final solitary moments together, though they both knew he wouldn’t accept. Dorian kissed him deeply, touched by the sentiment regardless. They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Dorian asked the question that had been weighing on his mind, and that he hadn’t had the chance to ask before.

“What part did Leliana play in this? She seemed quite anxious to get us together.”

“I had, ah, mentioned the attractive mage at Redcliffe at one point. That was all she needed. I think she knew we, ah…. well.”

“Well, indeed.”

As he watched the King and his entourage set out, knowing that Alistair still smelled lightly of the expensive oil they’d made good use of, Dorian thought that perhaps a visit to Denerim may not be quite so bad…

 


End file.
